


Never Stare

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art Student Louis, Blow Jobs, Don't @ Me, Gay Sex, M/M, Nude Modeling, One Shot, Smut, it's so bad, this is literally just smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 05:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: Louis is trying to survive figure drawing class. The nude model is Harry. It's downhill from there.





	Never Stare

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely because I'm cleaning out my word docs in favor of actual GOOD writing, and um, well. @Horsegirlharry Phoenix loved so many stupidly awful lines from this fic that I couldn't just in good conscience DELETE it though, honestly, that's exactly what I should have done... this is embarrassing. Read with ample wine. Maybe. If that. All the love, Toni.

Louis is only a poor art student. Scratch that, he’s a poor _suffering_ art student. He never asked for this (yes, he did sign up for the class but that’s besides the point). And to make matters _infinitely_ worse, he can’t even sit down. He has to stand behind his easel and hope that none of the other students have noticed the rod snaking down his left thigh.

A timer beeps and the cause of his suffering changes pose, now squatting and resting his elbows on his knees. Louis flips over a new sheet of paper and begins to sketch, outlining the man’s shape without focusing too much on the, er, _specifics_.

But that’s really, really hard to do. Usually, life drawing models are confident middle-aged or retired people that used to be hippies back in the day or have a propensity for displaying their piercings. There are only about five in the whole city who volunteer on a regular basis, as the pay is horribly meager, and they’re usually all so old because a young person’s libido isn’t precisely suited to naked peer review. Who would want a class of twenty-two-year-old college students analyzing how best to draw your privates?

Apparently _Harry Styles_. Professor Jenkins had introduced him with her customary, normal ‘this is your model for the day’ voice, unfairly leading Louis to assume Harry was a spritely grandpa looking forward to displaying his floppy dick. Well.

_Shit_ what a cock. Squatted, Harry’s flaccid, soft dick hangs down a good five inches from his body. _Unfair_. Like everything else about the young man his cock makes Louis salivate, makes his head reel, makes him have to take deep, calming breaths. None of this calms his own straining woody.

The timer beeps again. He’s drawn nothing. Harry moves to a standing position now, his sack jiggling along with his plump bottom as he steps one foot up on the prop chair and tilts his head back to the ceiling. There his neck lies for Louis’ consumption, tense and pale and gulping and biteable. Louis feels a wetness against his leg. He chances a glance down and nearly squeaks in mortification.

“Um… bathroom,” he mumbles to Professor Jenkins as he scurries away. He jerks off as quickly as he can, the models’ soft love handles milling around in his imagination, and returns right before the hour ends.

“Louis, you only have two sketches. Are you alright today? You know the minimum is five.”

“Oh. Um.” Louis pulls a hand through his hair. “Ya, m’fine.”

“Crit day is tomorrow, what will you present?”

“My, um, my painting, I guess.”

“Louis, there’s a two collection minimum for crit.”

“Right.” Louis closes his eyes. He knew that someday, someday his raging gayness would bite him in the ass, no pun intended. This seems to be his hour of reckoning.

“I can stay a bit longer, if that would help,” says Harry Styles, who has put on a silky flower-print robe, and no, it would _not_ help.

“How kind of you, dear. I’m sure Louis will be very grateful. Or at least his _grade_ will be grateful.”

Professor Jenkins packs up her things and files out with the rest of the students, leaving Louis alone with the bane of his existence, currently disrobing before him.

“So you want me to repeat some poses or do new ones?”

Louis wishes for purgatory. He’s always been so careful to keep his karmic impact on the universe positive; where has he gone wrong?

“Er, I suppose, um, repeat some stuff, ya.” Louis flips his sketchpad back to a blank page as Harry steps up once more to the riser.

“I think you missed the squatting one, didn’t you?” And he squats, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I—I did?” Louis _will_ combust, he is a tankard of lighter fluid and Harry is a literal forest fire barreling towards him.

“Ya. You missed a lot of poses, actually.”

Harry says this casually, as if it were _normal_ for a model to keep track of those drawing him. As if he’d been paying particular attention to Louis’ embarrassing lack of productivity.

“Sussiss…” Louis fails at forming a word. “Sometimes I, um, kind of space out in class,” he makes up, knowing his face has turned a truth-revealing shade of red.

“You didn’t seem too spaced out.”

Louis almost hurls his pencil. “Shut up, will you?”

Harry complies. Louis sketches feverishly, his bottom lip bit so hard it nearly breaks open. Finally he’s got the bare minimum outline he needs.

“You can switch,” he mumbles, flipping to another blank page.

“Okay. I’ll do the one you ran out on,” Harry offers, placing his foot up on the stool. The angle is different than before; instead of profile, Harry is now nearly full on, his elevated leg only drawing Louis’ eye further towards his ridiculously large package.

“I did not run out. I had to pee. What are you, the police?” Louis snaps, angrily sketching Harry’s shoulders and arms. No shoulders and arms should be so broad and muscled and yet still radiate only softness and scooped lines.

“Just noticed you staring is all,” Harry shrugs.

“Right, well you would, as I’m drawing you.”

“Ya, but you’re supposed to draw _all_ of me. Not just my cock.”

Louis drops his pencil and it clatters noisily on the concrete floor.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. S’been a long time since someone fit as you stared at it like that,” Harry continues, still not breaking his pose.

“I—“ Louis is dissolving. He’s a tablet of Pepcid in a glass of water. He hates his existence. “You have to stop, I can’t draw with you talking.”

Harry makes a show of closing his mouth.

“Thank you.” Louis puts the finishing touches on his outline, on Harry’s legs, his arms, his fingers. He captures Harry’s head and curly locks, the bend of his neck, the arch of his spine. He only has one area left; he braces himself.

“You’re staring at it again,” Harry says softly.

“Look, I have to draw it, alright? I’ve put if off as long as I can.”

“Hurry,” Harry grunts out.

“Oh sure, it’s fine if a whole class ogles your cock but the second _I_ do you want it over as soon as possible…” Louis’ voice trails off when he realises he’s missed Harry’s meaning entirely.

_Hurry_ , because Harry’s cock no longer hangs flaccidly against his balls.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters. “I never lose control, it’s not… just ignore it, please.”

But Louis can’t. It thickens up splendidly, arching back from Harry’s hips in a nearly upright bow towards his stomach. His foreskin has been forced back by the swelling of his cockhead, its soft pink tissue red as raspberry, flushed with blood like the rest of him. Several lovely veins race long his length and disappear into the cluster of dark curls at his base, curls that are now dewy with sweat.

Louis speaks softly, like he’s whispering in a holy temple. “No dick like that should be ignored, mate.”

Harry whips his head to stare at him, his pupils huge. “Oh?” He’s panting now, his cock bobbing with each of his breaths, with every heave of his bare chest.

“You’re…” Louis almost loses his nerve, but recovers it for the sake of such a beautiful member, “You’re probably not gay or anything, but I suck dick better than anyone I know and you’d be actually saving my _life_ at this point if you let me and—“

“Fuck, please,” Harry moans, and Louis doesn’t even pause to contemplate his good luck, he stumbles forward and is kneeling on the riser in seconds, Harry’s glorious creature centimeters from his lips. “Oh, oh…” Harry repeats over and over as Louis licks him first before taking him in his mouth.

Louis has never given head so well in his life; he does it as if he bears the weight of Atlas on his shoulders, as if the universe will crumble if he doesn’t pleasure this life drawing model, this Harry Styles, to within an inch of his existence.

And it shows. Harry starts actually crying, moaning and shaking and fisting into Louis’ hair, his legs wobbling from tremors and his voice cracking from how far back he’s arched his neck.

“Oh shit, _fuck_ … I’m coming,” Harry has the presence of mind to call out before Louis receives his load. Louis is an expert concerning cum, so he swallows easily, licking Harry’s tender tip clean before gaining a bit of distance to watch the spectacular dick shrink back to its restful state.

When Louis stands and faces Harry, they’re both panting.

“I was really hoping you’d do that, I had to recite nursery rhymes the whole class to keep from popping.”

Louis blinks. “You did?”

“I’m so gay,” Harry whispers, falling to his mouth. “In fact,” Harry whimpers between kisses, “If you’ve not got plans for that,” he motions to Louis’ once-again massive bulge, “Can I use it?”

Louis may not survive another minute. “Use… it?”

“Ya,” Harry begins undoing Louis’ pants and pulling them down. “You’re even prettier than I imagined. Will you? I have condoms in the robe…”

Louis somehow stumbles to Harry’s robe where he finds an (oddly convenient) condom and a little pack of lube. He rolls it on and squeezes the packet half on him and half onto his fingers. Before he’s even finished Harry bends over the fucking stool and he fucking _sticks his arse out and up and spreads his cheeks_. And Louis is _done_.

Pushing in, stretching, hollowing out, Louis opens him, and Harry mewls at it all, his noises the soundtrack to Louis’ heaven. When Harry’s finally loose and pliant Louis breaks their silence.

“Are you… are you sure…”

“Yes, hurry-”

So Louis plunges in, forwards like a plow through deep snow, and Harry parts for him like the Red Sea, his whole back end broadening, welcoming.

“Will you fuck me like you mean it?” Harry asks when Louis is balls deep.

Louis _definitely_ means it. They fuck, but it’s better than that, than that word. It’s everything Louis has ever wanted but never known how to say. It’s spiritual, somehow, sacred, as if Harry’s hole were a holy cistern and he were taking his first baptismal. Harry is so tight around him, so hot and constant and beautiful. When Louis gets close he reaches around Harry’s hips and grasps his once again hard cock. There’s not much coordination, but it’s enough, and Harry comes with him, both of them crying out into the empty room.

The _supposedly_ empty room.

“Stay in me,” Harry breathes, and Louis complies as he presses his lips to the model’s shoulder, pets at his hair, squeezes his love handles. Louis’ dick soon softens and slips out on its own, and Harry turns then and begins to kiss him hungrily. Their kisses morph from soft to sharp to fervent over the next few minutes, and damned if Louis isn’t beginning to feel like they’ll need a second condom. But with a jerk, Harry pulls away.

“Oh. Um.” Harry’s eyes grow wide and he motions behind Louis. “Whoops.”

Like a damsel in the climax of a horror film Louis turns, his dick still fully exposed and his pants around his knees. The classroom has filled with people, including Professor Jenkins.

“Louis. How good of you to volunteer to model with Harry today. And what a bonus you two seem so comfortable being naked around each other.”

Louis hesitates only a moment before pulling his pants down all the way. Because why the hell not.


End file.
